


Tastes Like Green

by ChainSmokesPens



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Fantasy, Flash Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:46:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28571727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChainSmokesPens/pseuds/ChainSmokesPens
Summary: Prompt: [WP] You are the official potion taste tester. It’s your job to make sure all the potions taste decent for the buyers. There’s nothing worse than getting stabbed and dreading to take your health potion.





	Tastes Like Green

"Okay, okay, okay. Try this one next." Thoreau shoved the next bottle into my face.

I recoiled a bit at the sight of the bottle. "Enough. I can't stand this."

"Just one more, damn it! It's for the king!"

"Screw-" A bottle was shoved into my mouth before I could finish.

Health potions were a mixed bag as far as magical goods went. Namely in the fact that they weren't magical. Sure, someone could, theoretically, juice a mage and wring their healing powers from their pores, but there were ethical concerns with that.

Nothing wrong with forcing a minor to chug potions made by some old guy in a basement though. As far as the king was concerned, that was pragmatic.

Like any given grandmother's family recipe, no two potions were created equal. The benefits and alleged benefits were a mixed bag. Brewing took time and effort. But, if a company of knights was going to go storm an enemy fortress and you told them they needed to wait a fortnight to restock on healing potions, you could be put in the stocks for treason. And if they died, you could be found guilty of murder and hanged.

And that's why I sat here, chugging back another noxious health potion while my alchemical tutor wrung his hands in anticipation.

I should've trained under the blacksmith.

This potion was thick; less like syrup, more like snot. The way it slowly slid over my tongue, clinging to the surfaces of my mouth by mucus-like threads, made me want to hurl. And it only got worse when it got past the throat, crawling like a slug down my esophagus like it was afraid of whatever lay beneath inside of me. It took everything I had not to throw up.

The potion was green, both in regards to color and flavor. I didn't know until then that I could identify green as a flavor.

Green tastes like a bouquet of flowers, but with the flowering parts removed so that the stems were all that remained.

As I continued to try and consume this, I reflected on how as a child I used to consume grass by the handful because it made my friends laugh. Now I felt like an idiot being karmically punished for senselessly harming innocent crabgrass while playing with my peers.

I started to get dizzy. Initially, I thought it was because in my effort to drink this I hadn't taken the time necessary to breathe. However, I quickly came to the realization that the potion itself was doing this to me.

I wretched as I finished up the bottle. As I took in a heavy breath, my head started throbbing. The room started spinning. The light from the fireplace caused all the glasses piled on the flow to shimmer and twinkle in a way that hurt my eyes. My tutor looked excited.

I don't know when I woke up, but I did it on the floor.

"Well?" he asked.

I turned my head to him as best as I could. "Less thyme."

He scoffed. Then chuckled. Then laughed until he cried. Thoreau was strange in that way. He began picking up empty vials from the floor and started muttering to himself about thyme. I just stayed on the ground, frustrated beyond reason. Still, I couldn't deny I felt good. The pain from my toothache had subsided. I could run my tongue over my molars without experiencing any pain. The pain I felt in my stubbed toe this morning was gone, replaced with a gentle vibrating feeling; when I focused on it I could taste peppermint in my mouth.

I thought of life back home. My family arguing over the dinner table, slamming doors and swearing. Neglecting the pets they acquired, misguided in their confidence that they would bring them true happiness through the unconditional love that they showered upon those who fed them. My brother, the town drunkard who would come home in the morning, wake up after noon, argue with my mother, and do it all again. My mother, aggressive and determined in her own self-assured nature, but a discouraging combination of bullheaded and incompetent. My father, who just went to work to make us money and keep food on the table and a roof over our heads, but would come home and sit in his chair, sleeping until he needed to wake up for work the next day.

This world was confusing and frustrating and riddled with failures, but if asked after every foul potion I consumed if I would choose to go home rather than try another, I would snatch the brew from the asker's hand without question.

And when Thoreau held up the next bottle, that's exactly what I did.

And it was even worse than the last.

**Author's Note:**

> Could be expanded on.


End file.
